


Never Was

by echoist



Category: Bleach
Genre: AU, F/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoist/pseuds/echoist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU treatment of a showdown between Ichigo and Ulquiorra and the resulting clean up.  It was entirely future!fic at the time, now I guess it's something of an AU rewrite?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Was

     Ichigo saw the opportunity and lunged, his blade slicing a deep, clean line through his opponent's unresisting flesh. The battle had been short, but brutal; blood streamed down his face and chest, streaked liberally across the pale stone floor of Aizen's audience chamber. The Espada fell back, a startled look fading into a wry smirk as Ichigo yanked his sword free.

      “Well done,” Ulquiorra whispered, knees buckling beneath the weight of a mortal wound. His sword dropped to the ground, heavy and useless.

      The shinigami turned from his opponent at a sharp cry from behind, wiping the blood from his eyes. “It's all right, Inoue. It's over.”

      The girl rushed past him in a blur of white and fierce, golden red. “No!” she yelled hoarsely, falling to her knees beside the Arrancar's unmoving form. “Ulquiorra,” she begged, cradling his head in her hands. His mask shifted, falling to the floor with an empty clatter and her fingers tangled in his hair.

      “Inoue...” Ichigo spoke her name softly, stunned. The scent of his own blood washed over him, sharp and sickly sweet until he thought he might choke. She looked up, eyes wide with fear and doubt and something utterly alien. Pain clotted her words when she tried, hopelessly, to explain.

      "I didn't know, Kurosaki-kun. I didn't know, until you – you - “ She bowed her head, hot tears spattering the cold flesh in her grip. She wondered if it had ever been warm.

      “Sōten Kisshun,” she ordered, her voice barely rising above a whisper. A ghostly blue light flared at her temples as the spirits woke to answer her call.

      “Inoue, no!” Ichigo shouted, words resounding off the columns to echo back in mockery. “You can't - “

      She continued as if she had not heard, the final words of her incantation tumbling down like stones. “_I reject_.” The barrier rose between Ayame and Shun'ō, translucent, insubstantial – unbreakable. The gaping chasm in Ulquiorra's chest began to slide gently closed, flesh knitting together as if it had never been cut; within the cocoon that enveloped him, it never had. Ichigo watched, open-mouthed, as his vengeance was unmade by the very woman who had inspired it.

      Dark eyes flickered open as the twilight glow melted away into the shadows. Ichigo stepped forward, sword unsheathed and found his progress swiftly arrested by a floating, triangular shield. It followed him when he turned, neatly intercepting his path as he flashed across the room, too fast for human eyes to track. He lowered his weapon, stymied, when the realization sunk in. _She hadn't spoken a word._

      Inoue's eyes never left Ulquiorra's face as she reached for his abandoned blade, fingers wrapping around the hilt with an eerie calm. His gaze was steady, calmly weighing the human where she knelt beside him on the stones.

      “Why?” The question lingered like a living thing between them, green eyes narrowing in genuine puzzlement. Inoue Orihime had never confounded him more than in this frozen instant, a moment in time that never should have been. She brought the point of his blade to bear against the pale skin at his throat in answer, leaving a small drop of blood with his next indrawn breath.

      “I wanted to give you the choice,” she explained, a slight tremble in her hands the only outward sign of surprise at her own reckless words. “Come back with us.”

      “Inoue!” Ichigo bellowed, slashing at the shield in frustration. He couldn't believe what his friend was saying any more than he could comprehend her actions.

      “Turn against my lord Aizen?” Ulquiorra questioned, his voice remarkably even for a man who had so recently been slain. He reached out a hand, slender fingers lightly tracing a path down her cheek. “Surely you know me better than that.”

      Inoue bowed her head in silent acknowledgment. He wound a strand of hair about his index finger, its vivid hue a stark contrast against the unrelieved white of his hand. “It doesn't have to end like this,” she countered in a low voice.

      He set loose the titian strands, wrapping both his hands firmly around the blade just below the hilt. He did not bleed, but Inoue could feel the sword biting into his flesh as though it were her own. Her eyes opened wide as she felt him settle the point beneath the jutting outline of a rib and pause there, considering.

      “Yes,” Ulquiorra answered, as though arriving at the solution to a particularly vexing riddle. “It does.” He thrust the sword deep into his chest, pulling Inoue forward until she hovered close enough to feel the last whisper of air across his lips. For a  fleeting moment, she thought she saw him smile.

      “Stay,” she begged, but his eyes had lost their focus, sliding away from where they had so recently lingered, heedless of his enemy's proximity. _He didn't look away_, she thought, numbly. Not even once. Inoue lowered her head to rest in the hollow where his shoulder met his neck, one hand still clutching the hilt of his sword. The barrier holding Ichigo at bay dissolved in a rush, small winged guardians winking out of existence to settle back where they belonged.

      He kept his distance, silent and unmoving as Inoue rose from the floor, head bowed, shoulders straight and set. For the first time, he noticed the cut of her clothing – her uniform – and let his mind work at what that might mean. Shaking his head, he slung his zanpakuto over his shoulder, lifting his chin defiantly.

      “Ready to go home?” Ichigo asked as she crossed the blood-soaked stones, every line of his body announcing his unwillingness to take no for an answer.

      “Yes,” Inoue answered, quietly but resolutely. She did not meet his eyes as she took his hand and led him out into the cold desert night.

10/04/2008 


End file.
